WARNING! THIS STORY IS VERY GRAPHIC AND MAY CAUSE UNEASINESS FOR SOME READERS. IF YOU WISH TO LEAVE COMMENTS ON THIS, PLEASE DO SO IN THE "DISCUSSION" TAB FOR THIS PAGE. THANK YOU!
“Mr. Jonson, what exactly happened that day?”
“What day?” His hands were in fists so as to not shake. He knew what they wanted: a story of a biographical sort, one of the notorious Mr. Albert Fish.
“The day Mr. Fish revealed the truth to you. We know that he told you, Mr. Jonson. Please, tell us what happened.” Their pleas did not create a rest in him, however, he stood up and walked until he was face-to-face with the Warden.
“You want to know what I heard, Sir; what he told me on that day? Fine, I will tell you, but the horrific details shall not be spared.” He then began to pour out the story, just like this:
“It started many years ago, in fact, Fish couldn’t even remember how long ago it was when he told this story to me, when he began abusing, molesting, and tasting children. He told me of how their rear had the best taste, the sweetest. He told me of how he found pleasure in not only seeing the young children, but how he found pleasure in killing them, cutting their bodies apart, and ripping the muscles and meat through with his teeth – his ultimate prize. At one point I remember asking him how it all began, and why. I stumped him for a moment, but for a moment only. It was then that he told me of his childhood.
“He told me of how he was sent to a school for young boys when his mother just couldn’t take care of him anymore. For this he felt no resentment, and I’m not quite sure why, but anyway, the treatment of the boys in this home was subpar. He told stories of being paddled for anything that he did that was even slightly wrong. He spoke of the pain he felt the first time, and of how he never learned to do things right. Spanking became a part of his common routine. This is where it all went wrong, for he began to like the spankings. I mean, he really began to LIKE the spankings.” Jonson put a lot of emphasis here, more than my recollection of his story can truly convey. “He liked them so much, in fact, that he would get himself into trouble, just to be spanked. At this same time he first discovered how much he enjoyed making himself feel pain, especially in the ways that he should be feeling pleasure.”
“But, Mr. Jonson, did he not speak of anything else? Were his only words of his sadistic childhood?”
“No, no, no. I’m getting there!
“So anyway, one day he was talking to a friend who told him that he had recently tried child meat, and asked if Fish had ever done the same. This one remark was what set Fish off on a frenzy for the rest of his life. Of course, it doesn’t help that his family had a long line of mental illnesses in and of itself. Though I think this man really did something to Fish’s brain that screwed him up for the rest of his life. But anyway, he told me that he wanted to taste children after that, and as such, he found children to try. Now, Fish should have already been a threat to parents, as he was a borderline pedophile – he liked his sexual abuse as a child, and wanted other children to experience the same ‘joys’ – but now he was someone you would just want to avoid all together. When he started to take these children, it began as rape and murder, then, as he perfected that ‘art’ he moved onto the ‘slashing and hacking of the bodies,’ as he put it, and never once after that day did he stop. Until now, that is. I must say, I’m rather glad he is not here anymore. I mean, I know he wasn’t a threat to me, but I still felt like he was kind of, well, creepy to have around. I mean, I–”
“Mr. Jonson, please.”
“Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir. I digress. However, all of this talk of kids made me wonder if he had any of his own, so I asked. He told me that yes, he did have kids (6 to be exact) but that his wife left him, and he could essentially turn them into his own little slaves. He made them paddle him until he bled, and blood ran down his legs. Though he made it a point to assure me that he never once harmed one of his children, nor did he paddle them. But in my opinion, he only avoided his own children because he was too easily a suspect in a case as such. But that’s not what this is about.
“He told me about how proud he was that he had been sent to jail multiple times on charges other than the rape and murders and that, up until the point at which we had spoken, he had not been caught for those things. But he was also very proud of the rapes he made and the murders (and stews) that were committed, or, I suppose ‘made.’ He told me of how he loved little boys, but that if he stumbled upon a girl who was weak enough to be overtaken by him, that she would be okay, too. He spoke of one girl, but I can’t remember her name. I guess it was his ‘most famous’ abduction, but it really wasn’t the one he cared for the most.”
“Are you talking about Grace Budd?”
“Yes, yes, that’s it! Grace Budd had an older brother who Fish was going to see. He told me about an ad that he saw in a paper about a young man who was looking for employment, and Fish responded. He told me that he posed as another man, which was smart if you think about it.”
“You think it was smart, eh, Mr. Jonson?”
“No no no! That’s not at all what I meant. I just meant that that’s why he didn’t get caught right away. He knew the fake name was a good idea. He knew it would prevent him from being found out quickly. But ultimately his time came, and the police apprehended him. But you see, he gave this fake name to the young man from the ad, Edward Budd, and met with the family. When he met with them, he was hoping to find a young, scrawny boy, though Edward was the exact opposite. He was 18 years old and strong as an ox. Fish knew that he was no match for Edward, and though he desired the flesh of a young boy, he decided that Edwards little sister, Grace, would suffice.
He was going to a birthday party of some sort, he told the mother, Mrs. Budd. But in reality, he took Grace to an abandoned apartment and just told her to play in the front yard. He and I both assume that she just figured she was early for the party, and that other children would show up soon. Maybe she thought they were already inside. Who knows? We will never gain the knowledge we so badly want. However, Fish did go on in his story. But, it’s hard for me to talk of.”
“Mr. Jonson, please go on. We understand that some of what happened is a bit graphic, but what you’re telling us is the only viable account we can manage to find for this case. Please, continue.”
“Alright. I’ll try. Well, you see, while little Grace was outside, Fish was in the house and he was, uhm,” he slowed his speech, obviously bothered by this conversation. The Warden nodded to continue his speech, and he did. “He was naked. Or rather, getting himself to that point. Once he was, well, you know, he called little Grace into the house. Oh the look on her face when she was him must have been horrible. He told me of her screams and efforts to get away, but nothing she did helped. But his details stopped there. From there he just told me that he killed her and chopped her up. It’s still graphic, and horrific, to imagine this young girl being killed for no reason other than the fact that she was there at the wrong time. Or, I suppose the right time, depending on your perspective.
“I’ve been here many nights, and those many nights I have wondered to myself how a man can do that to an innocent little child with no remorse whatsoever. The sick things that must have gone through his mind - I can’t even bear to think about what may have been happening up there. The true mysteries of Mr. Albert Fish are not held within the actions he performed, but much more within the brain behind the operations.
“He told me of a letter that he wrote.”
“A letter? To whom?”
“Grace’s mother. In fact, at one point he still had a copy of it in this exact cell. I wonder if –“ But his words were cut off by the flapping of a corner from under the toilet bowl. Could it be? Jonson moved to check, and sure enough, he found a portion of the letter written to Mrs. Budd.
“What’s that in your hand, kid?”
“This is the letter, I believe. Only part if it, though. See, it’s ripped at the top here. But it’s cruel. Please do not blame any of its content on me, for I promise I had nothing to do with it.”
“We know, Mr. Jonson. Please just hand over the paper.” Under that command, Jonson slowly – and very unsteadily – held his hand and the letter out towards the Warden, who read it aloud:
“I took her to an empty house in Westchester I had already picked out. When we got there, I told her to remain outside. She picked wildflowers. I went upstairs and stripped all my clothes off. I knew if I did not I would get her blood on them. When all was ready I went to the window and called her. Then I hid in a closet until she was in the room. When she saw me all naked she began to cry and tried to run down the stairs. I grabbed her and she said she would tell her mamma. First I stripped her naked. How she did kick – bite and scratch. I choked her to death, then cut her in small pieces so I could take my meat to my rooms. Cook and eat it. How sweet and tender she was roasted in the oven. It took me 9 days to eat her entire body. She died a virgin.” Now the warden began to grow disgusted, and even grabbed his stomach as if he were sick.
“I told you the story was graphic.”
“This is the same letter she remembers receiving so many years ago. The files prove it to be true. So it really did happen as you say. He wasn’t insane, he knew what he was doing and he was glad to do it.”
“No offense, Warden, but I don’t know that you can completely say that he was not mental in any or all respects. He may have intentionally murdered this young girl, but if a man is not sick in the head, then why would he send a letter to her mother, detailing the murder of her once loved baby girl? There is still something fishy about this situation, pardon the pun.”
“Do you have any more information to tell us, Jonson?” No response. “Jonson, do you have anything more to tell us?” Still nothing. “JONSON!”
“Yes, sir, but please, be quiet. Listen.” When all the men in the room finally settled down, a faint whistle was being heard. Today was the day of the execution, and somebody was walking down the hall.
“That must be Fish. Jonson, please tell us right now if you have any evidence to support that Fish should not be put to death.”
“I have nothing. Besides, that sick old man will probably have the best thrill of his life on the chair. He always told me that he wondered if severe electrocution would bring the best and strongest pleasure to him.”
Those were the last words spoken by Mr. Jonson on behalf of Albert Fish. Mere moments later, after two shocks, Albert Fish was dead.
IF YOU WISH TO LEAVE COMMENTS ON THIS, PLEASE DO SO IN THE "DISCUSSION" TAB FOR THIS PAGE.
THANK YOU!
“Mr. Jonson, what exactly happened that day?”
“What day?” His hands were in fists so as to not shake. He knew what they wanted: a story of a biographical sort, one of the notorious Mr. Albert Fish.
“The day Mr. Fish revealed the truth to you. We know that he told you, Mr. Jonson. Please, tell us what happened.” Their pleas did not create a rest in him, however, he stood up and walked until he was face-to-face with the Warden.
“You want to know what I heard, Sir; what he told me on that day? Fine, I will tell you, but the horrific details shall not be spared.” He then began to pour out the story, just like this:
“It started many years ago, in fact, Fish couldn’t even remember how long ago it was when he told this story to me, when he began abusing, molesting, and tasting children. He told me of how their rear had the best taste, the sweetest. He told me of how he found pleasure in not only seeing the young children, but how he found pleasure in killing them, cutting their bodies apart, and ripping the muscles and meat through with his teeth – his ultimate prize. At one point I remember asking him how it all began, and why. I stumped him for a moment, but for a moment only. It was then that he told me of his childhood.
“He told me of how he was sent to a school for young boys when his mother just couldn’t take care of him anymore. For this he felt no resentment, and I’m not quite sure why, but anyway, the treatment of the boys in this home was subpar. He told stories of being paddled for anything that he did that was even slightly wrong. He spoke of the pain he felt the first time, and of how he never learned to do things right. Spanking became a part of his common routine. This is where it all went wrong, for he began to like the spankings. I mean, he really began to LIKE the spankings.” Jonson put a lot of emphasis here, more than my recollection of his story can truly convey. “He liked them so much, in fact, that he would get himself into trouble, just to be spanked. At this same time he first discovered how much he enjoyed making himself feel pain, especially in the ways that he should be feeling pleasure.”
“But, Mr. Jonson, did he not speak of anything else? Were his only words of his sadistic childhood?”
“No, no, no. I’m getting there!
“So anyway, one day he was talking to a friend who told him that he had recently tried child meat, and asked if Fish had ever done the same. This one remark was what set Fish off on a frenzy for the rest of his life. Of course, it doesn’t help that his family had a long line of mental illnesses in and of itself. Though I think this man really did something to Fish’s brain that screwed him up for the rest of his life. But anyway, he told me that he wanted to taste children after that, and as such, he found children to try. Now, Fish should have already been a threat to parents, as he was a borderline pedophile – he liked his sexual abuse as a child, and wanted other children to experience the same ‘joys’ – but now he was someone you would just want to avoid all together. When he started to take these children, it began as rape and murder, then, as he perfected that ‘art’ he moved onto the ‘slashing and hacking of the bodies,’ as he put it, and never once after that day did he stop. Until now, that is. I must say, I’m rather glad he is not here anymore. I mean, I know he wasn’t a threat to me, but I still felt like he was kind of, well, creepy to have around. I mean, I–”
“Mr. Jonson, please.”
“Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir. I digress. However, all of this talk of kids made me wonder if he had any of his own, so I asked. He told me that yes, he did have kids (6 to be exact) but that his wife left him, and he could essentially turn them into his own little slaves. He made them paddle him until he bled, and blood ran down his legs. Though he made it a point to assure me that he never once harmed one of his children, nor did he paddle them. But in my opinion, he only avoided his own children because he was too easily a suspect in a case as such. But that’s not what this is about.
“He told me about how proud he was that he had been sent to jail multiple times on charges other than the rape and murders and that, up until the point at which we had spoken, he had not been caught for those things. But he was also very proud of the rapes he made and the murders (and stews) that were committed, or, I suppose ‘made.’ He told me of how he loved little boys, but that if he stumbled upon a girl who was weak enough to be overtaken by him, that she would be okay, too. He spoke of one girl, but I can’t remember her name. I guess it was his ‘most famous’ abduction, but it really wasn’t the one he cared for the most.”
“Are you talking about Grace Budd?”
“Yes, yes, that’s it! Grace Budd had an older brother who Fish was going to see. He told me about an ad that he saw in a paper about a young man who was looking for employment, and Fish responded. He told me that he posed as another man, which was smart if you think about it.”
“You think it was smart, eh, Mr. Jonson?”
“No no no! That’s not at all what I meant. I just meant that that’s why he didn’t get caught right away. He knew the fake name was a good idea. He knew it would prevent him from being found out quickly. But ultimately his time came, and the police apprehended him. But you see, he gave this fake name to the young man from the ad, Edward Budd, and met with the family. When he met with them, he was hoping to find a young, scrawny boy, though Edward was the exact opposite. He was 18 years old and strong as an ox. Fish knew that he was no match for Edward, and though he desired the flesh of a young boy, he decided that Edwards little sister, Grace, would suffice.
He was going to a birthday party of some sort, he told the mother, Mrs. Budd. But in reality, he took Grace to an abandoned apartment and just told her to play in the front yard. He and I both assume that she just figured she was early for the party, and that other children would show up soon. Maybe she thought they were already inside. Who knows? We will never gain the knowledge we so badly want. However, Fish did go on in his story. But, it’s hard for me to talk of.”
“Mr. Jonson, please go on. We understand that some of what happened is a bit graphic, but what you’re telling us is the only viable account we can manage to find for this case. Please, continue.”
“Alright. I’ll try. Well, you see, while little Grace was outside, Fish was in the house and he was, uhm,” he slowed his speech, obviously bothered by this conversation. The Warden nodded to continue his speech, and he did. “He was naked. Or rather, getting himself to that point. Once he was, well, you know, he called little Grace into the house. Oh the look on her face when she was him must have been horrible. He told me of her screams and efforts to get away, but nothing she did helped. But his details stopped there. From there he just told me that he killed her and chopped her up. It’s still graphic, and horrific, to imagine this young girl being killed for no reason other than the fact that she was there at the wrong time. Or, I suppose the right time, depending on your perspective.
“I’ve been here many nights, and those many nights I have wondered to myself how a man can do that to an innocent little child with no remorse whatsoever. The sick things that must have gone through his mind - I can’t even bear to think about what may have been happening up there. The true mysteries of Mr. Albert Fish are not held within the actions he performed, but much more within the brain behind the operations.
“He told me of a letter that he wrote.”
“A letter? To whom?”
“Grace’s mother. In fact, at one point he still had a copy of it in this exact cell. I wonder if –“ But his words were cut off by the flapping of a corner from under the toilet bowl. Could it be? Jonson moved to check, and sure enough, he found a portion of the letter written to Mrs. Budd.
“What’s that in your hand, kid?”
“This is the letter, I believe. Only part if it, though. See, it’s ripped at the top here. But it’s cruel. Please do not blame any of its content on me, for I promise I had nothing to do with it.”
“We know, Mr. Jonson. Please just hand over the paper.” Under that command, Jonson slowly – and very unsteadily – held his hand and the letter out towards the Warden, who read it aloud:
“I took her to an empty house in Westchester I had already picked out. When we got there, I told her to remain outside. She picked wildflowers. I went upstairs and stripped all my clothes off. I knew if I did not I would get her blood on them. When all was ready I went to the window and called her. Then I hid in a closet until she was in the room. When she saw me all naked she began to cry and tried to run down the stairs. I grabbed her and she said she would tell her mamma. First I stripped her naked. How she did kick – bite and scratch. I choked her to death, then cut her in small pieces so I could take my meat to my rooms. Cook and eat it. How sweet and tender she was roasted in the oven. It took me 9 days to eat her entire body. She died a virgin.” Now the warden began to grow disgusted, and even grabbed his stomach as if he were sick.
“I told you the story was graphic.”
“This is the same letter she remembers receiving so many years ago. The files prove it to be true. So it really did happen as you say. He wasn’t insane, he knew what he was doing and he was glad to do it.”
“No offense, Warden, but I don’t know that you can completely say that he was not mental in any or all respects. He may have intentionally murdered this young girl, but if a man is not sick in the head, then why would he send a letter to her mother, detailing the murder of her once loved baby girl? There is still something fishy about this situation, pardon the pun.”
“Do you have any more information to tell us, Jonson?” No response. “Jonson, do you have anything more to tell us?” Still nothing. “JONSON!”
“Yes, sir, but please, be quiet. Listen.” When all the men in the room finally settled down, a faint whistle was being heard. Today was the day of the execution, and somebody was walking down the hall.
“That must be Fish. Jonson, please tell us right now if you have any evidence to support that Fish should not be put to death.”
“I have nothing. Besides, that sick old man will probably have the best thrill of his life on the chair. He always told me that he wondered if severe electrocution would bring the best and strongest pleasure to him.”
Those were the last words spoken by Mr. Jonson on behalf of Albert Fish. Mere moments later, after two shocks, Albert Fish was dead.